Dearest old man, I miss your weekly visits to my bar. To anyone who didn’t know you, you looked homeless, careless and alcoholic.
I think you were one of the best storytellers I’ve ever heard, near-toothless speech, hacking coughs and all. You were prejudiced as all hell, but unabashedly so. A last free spirit from an age of raucous drunk driving, 25-cent movies at The Oxford and smuggling lobsters to your sister’s house. Thank you for sending a friend to let me know you passed away. I think you were great. —Daytime Bartender
This article appears in Mar 4-10, 2010.
old hardcore dudes are the bread and butter of many dive bars and keep more than a few people employed 🙂
He used to spend a lot of time at our store, too. I could never, EVER understand him, but he was nice and didn’t cause me any trouble.
Not the Pirate of the Clyde Street NSLC!? What bar is this?
Gotta love those crusty old dudes, dirty old men, whatever you want to call them. It’s definitely going to be me some day, I know it. Oftentimes I’d prefer having a conversation with them than guys my own age just talking about “ohh my God man we got so fucking drunk last night, and there was this chick there right, and fuck was she hot.”
Nope I’m not like that at all never ever.